Because it doesn’t take much to make me happy, I took a little of my Christmas cash and bought a really good knife.Â (Too much Rachel Ray and Paula Deen, I freely admit.)Â I wanted to cut and chop and dice and slice with the same sort of ease, and my dear little paring knife was no longer getting the job done to my satisfaction.
I bring home Super Knife and immediately slice an apple for my son.Â Heaven, people, the ease with which this knife worked.Â I was, in a word, delighted.Â And I immediately made the knife Off Limits to my children.
“Do not touch my knife.Â It’s mine, it’s very sharp.Â Don’t touch it.”Â
Evidently there was a breakdown in communication here, because even though I thought I’d made myself clear, the first time I left the kids here alone with my knife, I came home and found something sticky all over it, the counters, the cabinets and the floor.Â But you know what?Â It was the strangest thing.Â No one knew what had happened.Â No one had touched my knife.Â No one knew how the sticky stuff got all over the kitchen, much less how it had touched and tainted the beloved blade of my brand new knife.Â I threatened to take away TVÂ privileges and my daughter cracked like a stale Saltine.
“He did it!Â He was throwing tangerines up into the air and cutting them with your knife!Â It was him!”Â She even demonstrated for me.Â A pause then, “Am I gonna lose my TV?”
I looked at my son and waited.Â Finally, a slow guilty smile slid over his lips.Â “It’s a great knife, Mom.”
We bonded over the blade in that moment.Â I made him clean up the mess and took his TV away for two hours.Â Because I am such a hard-ass.
Â PS–Raven Hart is blogging at The Soapbox Queens today!Â Check it out!